Together Apart
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: He wished fervently that there had been some way to prevent her from coming abroad. He felt responsible for her actions, albeit indirectly. If only his letters had reached her… “Oh, God,” Gilbert moaned. “Please protect her.”
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Here's a story set during _Anne of Green Gables: The Continuing Story_. I'm focusing on Gilbert. AND, I'm pretending that the _Anne_ film sequel was set in 1909 and 1910 rather than in 1902 and 1903, and that Anne and Gilbert married in the late fall of 1915; it makes writing about this third film so much simpler. Also pretend that Anne was really twenty-four years old instead of the nearly-thirty Megan Follows in the film. Please note that the italicized portions of this chapter and subsequent chapters are memories of Anne that Gilbert during the war "played over and over again in my mind until every detail was exactly as I remembered." That theme is sorta central to my story. Well, that's all for now. Please enjoy and review! ~SweetSinger2010

Together Apart

_Prologue A—The First_

_Winter 1910_

_Kingsport_

_"The board of governors at the college just offered me a five-year contract."_

_Gilbert grinned, pleased for his friend. "That's wonderful! You've certainly won your way into the hearts of this affluent old town." His smile faltered just slightly and he paused. "You won't be lonely." _

"_I'll survive," Anne nodded in agreement. There was a momentary silence. Gilbert tried not to think about how the grey afternoon brought out the muted jewel-tints of Anne's eyes. _

"_Well, I ought to go," he said, jerking himself back to the conversation at hand. "The train leaves at 5:30."_

"_Oh, no. Really?" _

_Gil nodded. Abruptly: "Oh!" He hastily unbuttoned his coat pocket. "I was going to, ah," he pulled out an envelope and handed it to Anne, "mail this, but a note just isn't the same."_

_Anne beamed. "Thanks, Gil." _

_He stepped forward and embraced her, unable to resist, letting his face fall just as soon as she couldn't see. _

"_Good bye, Anne." He said roughly. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against him as she breathed. She swallowed hard. _

"_Good bye, Gil." _

_They parted. He looked into her eyes. The expression was unreadable. _

"_Don't forget me," he said strangely. He turned to leave as quickly as he could—he could feel the pain on his face that he didn't want her to see—but he paused on the gazebo's edge to look over his shoulder at her. Finally, he ran out into the rain, feeling just as he had those long months ago when she'd refused his hand. He was strangely anxious to leave her, afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep from telling her that he'd love her forever, whether she returned the affection or not. _

_And Gilbert almost believed that she did when, at 5:30 that evening, he leaned his head against the cold train window and saw her run out onto the platform, look around frantically, and call his name. He sprang out of his seat and sprinted onto the car's rear platform. He gripped the railing. Anne looked pale; had she been crying?_

_She waved her hand, the note he'd written tightly clutched. _

"_Thank you!" _

_He lifted his hand to wave and then picked at the edge of his hat, watching her intently as the train pulled away._

"_Good bye," she called, forcing a smile. Her breath hung in the air. _

"_Good bye, Anne," he rejoined. They stood watching each other as the train gained speed. Gilbert thought he could see tears gather in her eyes, sparkling like diamonds. She waved again, then pressed the corner of the envelope to her lips. _

_Gilbert watched her until she disappeared into the inky darkness. He sighed, and slipped back into the railcar. _

--

_Late Autumn 1915_

_Carmody_

The scene from five years ago flashed itself in Gilbert's mind as he stood on the rear platform of the train car. He almost smiled as he scanned the crowd for his wife. The routine had become a familiar one. Over the course of their long engagement, he and Anne had said many good-byes, had lingered a long time at train stations watching giant locomotives become only moving dots on the horizon. Anne liked to quote, "Parting is such sweet sorrow." Gilbert would laugh, kiss her nose, whisper promises in her ear as they left each other.

But today was not a day for laughter, or for promises. The newlyweds had woken together at dawn and silently wondered whether it was the last day they would have together before Eternity. They each had fears; Gilbert was of course more concerned about his wife's welfare than his own. They had been married two weeks, and he was leaving her, sacrificing what should have been the happiest time of their life together. It would be months before the war was over. Years, even. Would she be alright by herself? What about money? Would she have to go back to teaching school? Gilbert was secretly afraid that Anne would come to resent his decision to enlist as a doctor. She had been so resistant of it at the start.

Whatever Gilbert's fears, they were assuaged when he spotted Anne in the throng of people cheering as the special train bearing new enlistees pulled out of Carmody station. She took a few quick steps next to the car and easily mounted the platform on which Gilbert stood. He drew her close and they kissed passionately. Her fingers knotted in his hair, and he held her tightly around the waist, unwilling to let go. She kissed him once more, urgently, and touched their foreheads together. Gilbert felt bereft at the loss of her embrace as she carefully climbed down and stepped back on stationary ground. He stretched out his hand and she held tightly to it with both of hers, walking beside the train as it began to pick up speed. Gilbert looked deep in her eyes and took strength from the unfailing love, pride, and quiet courage shining there. Tears pricked his eyes. Anne released his hand and stood back. He saw her lips move, and she raised a hand.

_Good bye._

Gilbert mouthed, _I'll be back. I love you._ He blinked furiously and cleared his throat, thick with emotion. From a small distance, he saw Anne's chin tremble, and she pressed a hand over her mouth, struggling to retain composure, to silence her sobs. Then she tossed her head, and waved again, smiling bravely; he knew that if she crumbled, she wasn't going to let him see it. Her entire attitude lately had been of fierce determination to "soldier on" for Gilbert's sake, and he knew it.

Now, he was not quite so resolved. Anne was out of sight, indistinguishable from other moving bodies and bright waving flags at the train station. Red earth began to flash past. A few tears rolled down his cheeks; he wasn't too proud to cry. He stood on the train's rear platform until it arrived in Charlottetown, memorizing every feature of the Canadian land he loved. He spotted the harbor, doleful gray. Later, as Prince Edward Island became only a vague outline on the horizon, Gilbert recalled his favorite memories of home. One in particular stood out. Twelve years ago, he'd fallen irrevocably in love.

--

"_Hey, Diana, who's your friend?" Gilbert injected a taunting note into his voice on purpose. Diana was such an easy target. Her chin rose and she looked archly in his direction. _

"_Anne Shirley," she replied primly. _

_Gilbert caught the new girl's eyes for a split second. They were gauging him. Then her head turned forward and she bit her lower lip in concentration. The race started. Gilbert and Moody Spurgeon promptly tripped and fell in an awkward tangle of arms and legs as the two young ladies raced ahead and claimed first prize. Gil gave up trying to untie the scarf that bound his leg to Moody's and leaned back on his palms. He studied that Anne Shirley's profile. She was very pretty, he thought, in an unusual way. Nothing like any of the other Avonlea girls. Her smile and laughter were charming. She turned her head and caught him watching her. Mirth faded from her countenance and she pursed her lips. Gil smiled and nodded his congratulations, winked at her playfully. One of her fine eyebrows arched high and she lifted her chin in the air, tossing a glossy red braid over her shoulder. Turned her back on him. Gilbert laughed out loud at her stiff manner. But there was something fascinating about her. He was determined to know more of her, this strange, lovely girl who seemed to think him of little consequence. _

_Something fluttered in the pit of Gilbert's stomach. He'd befriend Anne Shirley if it was the last thing he did. _

A/N: Well, what do you think? I myself am rather pleased with the outcome of this first part of the story. I'd love your feedback! Have a great day! ~SweetSinger2010


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Just pretend with me for a moment that the Anne movies followed the books in that Anne and Gilbert and the gang went to Redmond. _Anne of the Island_ is my favorite book, and I'm going to pull from it. Don't mind the discrepancies in the dates I tack on these little pre-chapter chapters. This is _my_ story and I'll write it in whatever way conveniences me! Oh, remember how I had subtitled the first part of this fic as Prologue-A? Disregard that. I was planning to write two prologues, but it wasn't working out, so I scrapped the idea.

Together Apart

_Late Autumn 1907_

_Redmond College_

_ "They make our little ambitions seem rather petty, don't they, Anne?"_

_ Appreciatively, Gilbert surveyed the grandiose pines in the park as the group of friends walked along the harbor shore road. A pair of grey-green eyes roamed over the landscape, shining. Gilbert watched Anne out of his periphery. The late sun was doing wonders with the rich auburn tint of her hair. _

_ "I think," she began dreamily, face turned to the light, "if ever any great sorrow came to me, I would come to the pines for comfort." _

_ Gilbert felt uneasy, listening to Anne speak of sorrow. How could life be so cruel as to subject a creature so lithe to a burden so heavy? "I hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne," he said sincerely. __**If it does**__, he added in thought, __**I hope I'm there to comfort you.**_

_ "But it must—sometime," she replied, her lips pursed together deep in thought. "Life seems like a cup of glory held to my lips just now. But there must be some bitterness in it—there is in every cup. I shall taste mine some day. __Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it. And I hope it won't be through my own fault that it will come. Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sunday evening__—__that the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strength with them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear? But we mustn't talk of sorrow on an afternoon like this. It's meant for the sheer joy of living, isn't it?"_

_ "If I had my way I'd shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, Anne." _

_ Gilbert wanted to kick himself when he saw her eyes flash fire; he'd spoken too sentimentally. Her pace quickened and she replied hastily. There was the slightest note of impatience in her voice._

_ "Then you would be very unwise. I'm sure no life can be properly developed and rounded without some trial and sorrow—though I suppose it is only when we are pretty comfortable that we admit it. Come—the others have got to the pavilion and are beckoning to us."_

_--_

_Early February 1918_

_France_

Gilbert couldn't quite pronounce the name of the town he was in now. Really, it didn't matter. The place had been almost completely razed, like so many others. Only a few buildings and the army camp remained standing. The bleak scene had become a familiar one.

He remembered the conversation he'd had with Anne years ago about trial and sorrow. Anne felt sure that they were to be expected from life; she hoped she could be strong in the face of them. But as Gilbert pulled a sheet over the face of another dead young man, he wondered how the devil anyone was supposed to cope with _this_. The war had gone on too long for his taste.

The tall doctor rubbed his hands together as he left the hospital tent, trying to relieve stiffness and cold. The full moon illuminated the half-frozen ground that crunched beneath his feet. It was after midnight, but the camp was still awake; high ranking officials trying to prep the morrow's offensive. Distant shell blasts shattered the silence of the winter night. Gilbert stepped inside the tumble-down shack that used to be a telegraph office. Many officers were crowded within, their murmurs creating a quiet hum in the room. Feeble, yellow electric light illuminated the maps and charts that the men were poring over. One, a colonel, looked up and noticed Gil.

"Captain Blythe," he greeted with a smile as he stepped forward. That afternoon, Gilbert had operated to save an important general's son wounded in battle; the officers were disposed to think very well of him. "What can I do for you?"

Gil hesitated. He had never been the sort of man to call in a favor, especially under difficult circumstances. But…

"Would it be possible for me to send a telegram?"

It had been three months, pushing four, since he had received a letter from Anne.

The colonel nodded in understanding. "Or you can place a telephone call, if you'd rather. There's one here, works pretty well."

Gilbert moved like one in a trance to the corner of the room where the telephone was. His heart raced. How long had it been since he'd heard his wife's melodic voice? He'd dreamed of it, imagined it for years. The opportunity to talk to her now was nearly overwhelming. Gil's dexterous hands trembled ever so slightly as he held the receiver. He checked a clock mounted on the wall. It was nearing eight p.m. in Avonlea; Anne would likely be home. Gilbert held the phone tighter. The overseas operator connected the call. Static crackled over the line. Moments later, a feminine voice answered on the other end.

"Hello?"

Shock kept Gilbert's tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. He made no reply.

"Hello?" The woman asked again. Gil finally forced himself to speak around the strange disappointment in his throat.

"D-Diana?"

There was a sharp gasp in reply. Gilbert couldn't quite determine whether it was a gasp of pleasure or of horror. His long-time friend was hysteric.

"Gil!" Diana exclaimed breathlessly. "Where are you?"

"France," he answered dumbly. He hardly knew what to say. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, not the least of which were concerning his wife, or why her best friend had answered the Green Gables phone. Diana didn't give him time.

"Gracious Providence!" She cried, sounding near to tears. She continued on in a rush. "Anne's letters to you were all sent back; we thought you were missing, too."

Gilbert tensed. "Who's missing? Surely—Diana—not Fred?"

"Yes," she answered woodenly, "He's been listed."

"Oh, Diana," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

Gilbert wanted to say something, anything, but Diana's tone of voice suggested that no words could comfort. He changed the subject as fast as he could. "Diana, where is Anne? Can I talk to her?"

"She isn't here right now." Diana said uncertainly. Gilbert could sense her extreme hesitation. His instincts told him that Anne was neither dead nor dying, but he knew that something was amiss.

"When will she be back?"

"I—I'm not sure," Diana hedged again. There was a momentary, uneasy silence. Gilbert glanced up and saw that all of the officers in the room were tensed, listening to sounds outside. Artillery was beginning to rain closer to the camp. He had to hurry.

"Diana, tell me where she is." There was no room for negotiation. Diana sighed. "Please," Gilbert added softly. "Where is she?"

"She joined the Red Cross."

"In Charlottetown?"

"No-o." Pause. "In London. She just arrived. She…wants to continue to France as soon as possible."

"Why?" He burst out incredulously. Anne travelling to England was one thing. Her travelling to France was something else entirely. If he'd known—

"All the letters she wrote you returned. She feared you were missing."

Gilbert, rendered speechless with horror, stood absolutely still. A wave of nausea swept over him when he thought of his precious wife roaming the war front in search of _him_. He knew that's what she was doing. She _would_ voluntarily travel to the most volatile place in the world!

Static popped in the receiver, wrenching Gilbert from his musings. The blasts were coming nearer now. "Diana," he spoke hurriedly, "I have to go. If you—if Anne writes, tell her—"

"Yes, yes," Diana whispered urgently. She understood. "Good-bye, Gilbert. Be safe."

The line went dead. Gilbert had no time to stand still and think about what had just passed in conversation. The entire camp was on the move. Again. He rushed back to the field hospital to issue orders and prepare the wounded to be moved. He had no time to think any more about Anne until he was seated in the front of a jerky ambulance.

He bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing his bleary eyes.

He wished fervently that there had been some way to prevent her from coming abroad. He felt responsible for her actions, albeit indirectly. If his letters had reached her…

"Oh, God," Gilbert moaned. "Please protect her."

He lifted his head, not knowing what else to pray, trusting that the Lord had heard. He glanced over to find that the ambulance driver regarding him with an odd look. Gil ignored him.

He could hear Anne saying, "There must be some bitterness…I shall taste mine someday. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it."

Gilbert shook his head.

Other men's wives were meeting their bitterness with acceptance, remaining steadfast in love and in spirit.

_His_ wife met her bitterness with retaliation, attempting the impossible.

Gilbert smiled a ghost of a smile. Anne's rash actions showed the profound depth of her love. He took strength from it as the dark night dragged on.


End file.
